


Duty, Honor, Country

by hrl (heilz)



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Military, Angst and Humor, Bottom Eren is best Eren, Crack Treated Seriously, Eventual Smut, Everyone Is Gay, Except maybe Connie and Sasha, Explicit Language, Fencing but make it poorly written, How they get away with that at the AFA is irrelevant, Jean Is A Little Shit, M/M, Multi, Parallels, References to Canon, Slow Burn, Underage Drinking, Zeke manga spoilers, lots of wholesome shoulder patting?, minor character relationships, plot heavy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-06
Updated: 2019-06-07
Packaged: 2020-04-11 22:08:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19118650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heilz/pseuds/hrl
Summary: Drinking, sex, scandal, and all things else that shouldn’t be happening at the most prestigious university for aspiring pilots. Welcome to the US Air Force Academy.





	1. Admiration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eren is a bird nerd with a horribly concealed secret.

_Integrity First, Service Before Self, and Excellence in All We Do._

_We will not lie, steal or cheat, nor tolerate among us anyone who does. Furthermore, I resolve to do my duty and to live honorably._

Powerful wings gathered air below freckled brown feathers. In an instant, the proud bird took flight, soaring high above Eren Jaeger’s head as he craned his neck to direct the fluid spectacle. The roar of the home crowd deafened him, but his instruction of Titan remained his priority. They were in tune with each other, as if Eren held this invisible cord that connected his hands to her body, signaling her turns and dives. She whisked herself just feet above heads in the massive crowd, and if she dared, she could have reached with her talons to savage some unlucky cadet. She was a living, breathing jet, all grace and speed and strength under his command. He was lost in the moment, as if he wasn’t center-stage in the middle of the season’s biggest half-time show. He felt weightless.

Time moved either too slowly, or too fast. Eren couldn’t tell. Out of the corner of his eye, the Falconry Squad Leader gave the signal to wrap things up. With a pull on that invisible string, Eren beckoned Titan groundward and to his gloved arm. Within moments and with a whoosh of air she took her perch, cawing for her reward. Eren smiled.

“You did great. Here.” Out of his pocket, he presented her trophy: a sliver of meat. Pride and the afterglow of nerves rushed through him in a shiver as he jogged across the artificial turf of the field, back to the sidelines where he passed Titan over to Falconry Squad Leader Hange Zoë.

“Incredible! That performance was brilliant, look at you! Best half-time show yet, I’d tip my hat if I had one, yes I would!” Hange’s eyes and mouth were wide in her own expression of pride, stroking Titan as the falcon cooed. After a few moments of silent admiration, she added as an afterthought, “Ah, you did well too, Jaeger!” Eren tensed in a salute as Hange turned to leave to take Titan back to her cage. “I’ll take her back to the stable, then. Dismissed.”

“Eren, that was awesome!”

Eren fell out of his salute as he turned, a grin plastered on his face. “Did you see that, Armin! Titan’s turns were so tight, I’ve never seen her fly so fiercely!” His best friend, Armin Arlert, mirrored his childish excitement, fists clenched and pumping as if they hadn’t seen Titan fly hundreds of times before now. To them, every performance felt like the very first.

“I just can’t believe how in sync you two are. I still remember when Titan would peck you just for looking at her sideways,” Armin said. In all his enthusiasm, he didn’t mean it as a dig. His words held genuine wonder at the progress Eren had made with his falcon. Eren scoffed in good nature.

“Yeah, well not everyone can be a genius Falconer like me, right? But anyways, come on, we should get back to our seats, or we’ll miss the start of the third quarter.” Eren slipped his glove off as he spoke and folded it gently, returning it to his backpack. “Remember the last time we missed Reiner scoring a touchdown?”

The two boys headed under the stadium, and the rumbling of the crowd above them died under the concrete. Eren was still shaking, the adrenaline not quite finished coursing through his veins. They headed up a staircase and into the stadium crowd, scanning for a familiar head of dark hair.

“Ah, there she is.” Armin was the first to spot her, standing and waving from a middle section of bleachers. After much pushing and shoving through the green uniformed sea of cadets from Eren, the boys made their way to their friend.

Mikasa Ackerman immediately pulled Eren closer toward her once he was within reach, inspecting his right arm wordlessly. With some effort, Eren kept from rolling his eyes, but yanked his arm away from her grasp.

“I’m fine,” he said. It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate her concern—well, he didn’t exactly ask for it, and it was unnecessary, but Mikasa’s incessant fretting over Eren’s position as a Falconer was getting tiresome in their second year at the Academy.

“You did well out there,” she said after a pause. Before he could thank her, the announcement for the start of the third quarter boomed throughout the stadium, and the trio forewent further conversation to focus their attention on the game at hand.

The Falcons were down, 14-20 against the Army Black Knights. On their home turf, no less. In his performance with Titan, Eren’s indignity at the deficit had been forgotten, but sizzling anger now returned at the thought of the uphill battle. The Black Knights had been talking way too much shit on social media in that sly way Army cadets always get away with to beat them here. While the Falcons hadn’t been able to respond in kind under strict instruction from their coach, Eren needed their team to make absolute fools of their rival where it actually mattered. Well, athletically speaking, anyway. He hoped his performance with Titan blessed the field with some kind of victory energy; she had put too much heart into her dance for it to fall flat on what would be the worst loss of the season.

“Think we can make a comeback?” Eren asked.

Mikasa and Armin exchanged a look. “You missed this because you were getting ready for the half-time show,” Armin began, “but Bertolt got hurt at the end of the half. I think he’s down for the rest of the game.”

“Shit.” Bertolt Hoover was the Falcons’ star receiver, Reiner Braun’s other half on the field. They’d been recruited as football prodigies, assuming starting positions as quarterback and receiver even as fourth-class cadets. If there was any hope for a comeback, it was with those two working their magic on the field. “It’ll be so embarrassing if we lose after that show.”

“Your show was amazing regardless,” Mikasa offered in support. Even so, her brows were furrowed and her jaw was clenched; she couldn’t completely suppress her own competitive instinct.

The cadet trio watched as the third quarter dragged on to the fourth, with the Falcons’ defense barely holding a stalemate. By the last two minutes of the fourth quarter, the Falcons were back on offense, but the situation at hand looked bleak. Eren was ready to admit defeat for the Falcons and leave the stadium before the rest of the crowd decided to do the same. But just as he was ready to drag his friends along with him, the announcer boomed over the loudspeaker, commentating Bertolt’s return to the field.

“No way,” Eren said, and they watched in awe as a tall, lanky cadet jogged out, fist bumping Reiner as he passed the stouter man. He wasn’t quite limping, but his gait was irregular, evident even to Eren’s untrained eye. “Dude’s got balls.”

At the sound of the referee’s whistle, tension filled the fall air. Eren fully expected a last-ditch Hail Mary to be chunked into the sky. But instead, Reiner stood up, motioning his team over. In the confusion, the Army cadets stood as well. Eren gaped. The play timer was still ticking, and they were on the third down. If Reiner had wanted a time out, it should have been called way before this. They were going to go into the fourth down, and a field goal would still be a loss for the Falcons at this point.

“What is he _doing_? There’s no time for that!”

“He’s got to have a plan,” Armin said.

“He’s not _you_! Reiner’s an idiot, have you met the guy? Like, he’s awesome, but he can’t add two plus two and get to four half the time!” Eren knew he wasn’t being fair; Reiner wasn’t an entirely moronic jock. He wouldn’t be the Academy’s star quarterback otherwise. But Reiner wasn’t a schemer. His playstyle was straightforward and earnest. Eren would even call it honorable.

But no. Oh, no. At some point during the huddle, as the play timer continued, the ball had been handed to Bertolt. And the bastard was running. Before anyone knew what was going on, Bertolt was past the line of scrimmage and rushing for the end zone.

“Holy shit.”

A trick play. Reiner Braun’s last-ditch effort had actually been a trick play. And it worked.

Bertolt rushed into the end zone, followed swiftly by his teammates that all but attacked their lanky hero. The game wasn’t officially over, but it pretty much was. The extra point was basically a guarantee, and there was a little more than a minute of playtime left for the Black Knights to even get in field goal range. The game was set. Eren laughed as he watched the miracle duo fist bump once more.

“How much would you guys bet they’re getting laid tonight?”

 

Sundays were a blessing, but Eren didn’t feel blessed with the raging headache his hangover granted him when he woke up the next morning. It was around 8 in the morning, and Eren firmly dug his head under his pillow to block out the light that so cruelly burned his eyes once he was conscious.

“You awake?”

Eren groaned. “Unfortunately.” The pillow slid away from his face to reveal Armin standing above him, already in uniform. A quick glance behind his friend showed a made bed, tidied desk, and clean floors on his side of their tiny room. It contrasted perfectly with the uniforms strewn across Eren’s side, an overflowing trash can, and papers littering his own desk. “Where are you off—ow, Jesus Christ…”

“You should know better than to try to keep up with Reiner in a shot contest,” Armin said. Although his voice was soft, it still wreaked havoc on Eren’s dehydrated brain. “You pretty much passed out after nine or so, so Mikasa and I dragged you back here. There’s water on your desk—and aspirin. I’m going to get breakfast with Historia and Ymir. I’d ask if you want to come, but…”

Eren dug clammy fingers into his forehead, mentally pleading for the throbbing to spare him. “I’m good. Have fun. If you see Reiner…tell him he’s an asshole.”

Armin didn’t say anything further, which Eren silently thanked him for. The door to their tiny room opened and shut with quiet clicks, and Eren was left alone with a head full of painful regret.

_Wait…8 AM…Shit._

Ignoring his head, he shot up from bed, simultaneously undressing and swallowing the aspirin like it was a lifeline. He downed the water, too, as he pulled on his Airmen Battle Uniform and hastily tidied his half of the room. Rooms were inspected more severely on the weekends, but that was the last thing on Eren’s mind as he sped through his chores. Cadet Wing Commander Marlowe Freudenberg would surely give him a pass. Right?

_Hange’s gonna kill me._

Eren arrived at the falcon stable fifteen minutes later, huffing like a madman and looking even worse. His bloodshot eyes found Hange tending to another cadet’s falcon, apparently speaking with someone out of Eren’s view.

“Squad Leader Zoë, I apologize for being late!” Eren’s own scream ripped his sensitive brain a harsh one, but he stood stiff in salute regardless. He couldn’t believe he let himself get drunk enough to sleep through his alarm and nearly miss out on his duties as a Falconer. He was willing to bet Armin tried to wake him up earlier, but didn’t have the heart to force him conscious after what Eren assumed to be his worst night out drinking in a long time. He couldn’t even remember what happened after leaving the game.

“Oh, Jaeger,” Hange said, tone pleasant as could be. “I didn’t think you were coming in today. Arlert came by earlier to tell me you were sick and fed Titan for you. Cleaned her stall, too.”

Eren, still ragged from the mad dash he’d endured to get to the stables, braced his hands on his knees. “Oh—really?” Armin must have left earlier, but came back to check on him, then. Crap. Eren owed him.

“So fucking loud in the morning, cadet. If you’re sick, take your ass to the infirmary.”

In an instant, Eren froze. He didn’t want to look up. That tone, voice, and ridiculously foul way of speaking could only be one person. Head still between his knees like an idiot who didn’t know better, Eren mustered a, “Yes, Captain!” before turning tail and fleeing.

_Shit. You have got to be kidding me._

 

Eren knew exactly where Armin would be. His favorite spot to lounge on the weekends, weather permitting, was the wooded area beside the track field, currently draped in the rusted spectrum of autumn colors as the trees prepared to shed themselves of their baggage for the winter. In the spring, small birds would chirp their songs in the early hours of the day, but for now the only background noise to enjoy was the empty sound of Colorado winds through brittle leaves, which Armin would still insist was pretty in its own way. Eren found his friend, along with two girls, sitting under the full umbrella of an oak tree. He was quickly spotted and waved over.

“Eren, I thought you were gonna get some more rest,” Armin said as Eren plopped himself onto an exposed root.

“Yeah, well, you could have told me you told Squad Leader Zoë I was sick,” Eren snapped. “I just came back from the stable. I looked like an idiot.” A quick glance at Armin’s hurt expression reminded him that he should be grateful. “But…thanks for trying to cover for me. And for feeding Titan.”

“And cleaning her stall.”

“…Yeah. That too.”

A snort from one of the girls interrupted them. “Eren Jaeger, looking like an idiot? Who would’ve thought!” Eren side-eyed the girl, Ymir Lenz—the effort hurt his sockets, but he told himself he couldn’t act hungover in front of her. He would never hear the end of it. “But seriously, I thought you filled your idiocy quota ten times over last night. What made you go the extra mile this morning?”

“Fuck you, Ymir.”

“No, seriously. It was _hilarious_. Before dear Armin and Mikasa spared you any more humiliation, your rant was fucking awesome. Something about Captain so-and-so, wanting to be the best pilot to come out of the Academy, more blabbering about the Captain…it was comedy gold. It’s even better that you don’t seem to remember any of this. Seriously, you were all, _‘I’m gonna be the best pilot the Flight Team has ever seen!’_ I mean, I couldn’t quite imitate the whole slurring part, but you get the idea.” Ymir was having the time of her life. Eren wanted to bash his head into the trunk of the oak.

“Stop it, Ymir. He was really drunk,” Historia Reiss, in all of her goddess-like nature, came to his rescue, however irrelevant her support was considering their entire squadron must have heard him pour his heart out over a mound of shots. To Eren, she continued with, “I think it’s really admirable that you have goals like that. Ymir does, too, in her own way.” She paused. “But it was funny to hear you yell about it so passionately, ten shots deep.”

“Ugh, whatever. Historia, let’s go. If we stay any longer, his whiny bitch energy will infect us, too.” Ymir stood, dusting dirt off her uniform as Historia did the same. “Ah, and Armin. Thanks for agreeing to help me out. Physics is killing my ass right now, but I’m not about to sit through literal tutoring anytime soon. I’ll see you later,” she said, and Armin nodded in awkward concession.

After the girls left, Armin sighed. “Sorry. She’s probably just in a bad mood or something.”

Eren wasn’t worried about Ymir. Well, he was, but as part of a larger picture—he couldn’t believe he got so drunk that he rambled about his aspirations to everyone within earshot at the party they’d gone to after the game. He was never getting drunk again. “Hey…I didn’t say which captain I was talking about, right?”

“Oh…uh, I don’t remember you saying anything about Captain Acker—”

“Shut up! Shut up, oh my god. Are you sure?” Eren’s voice shook. He was mortified. First the earlier encounter with the Captain himself, then this. What if he had said something?

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure at least. If Ymir had heard, she would’ve said something, right?” Oh, sensible, beautiful Armin. Eren breathed a sigh of relief. “But are you okay? You look like you’re not only bothered by what Ymir said. Did Squad Leader Zoë get mad at you?”

Eren swallowed thickly. “Not exactly…but…the Captain was there. In the stable. And now he basically thinks that I’m a dumbass who can’t keep up, among other things.”

A soft grasp on his shoulder offered some comfort from his friend. “I’m sure he didn’t really think much of it? He probably didn’t even know that it was you,” he said.

Eren snorted, mimicking Ymir’s earlier distaste. The beautiful scenery around him mocked his headache and his shame, oblivious to his turmoil. Further out, cadets were beginning to file out onto the track field, although there were no official athletics practices or classes held on weekends. He watched as they made loops around the track; if they weren’t members of the track team, they were probably getting a head start on the next fitness exam coming up. Eren should be training for that as well, but here he was, moping.

“If Squad Leader Zoë hadn’t practically yelled my name, maybe that would be possible. I couldn’t even salute him right!” Eren fell back from his perch on the root and into the dirt, face in his hands. A blush bloomed over his cheeks to turn his olive skin scarlet. He groaned. “Why am I so stupid? I need to impress him if I’m ever gonna have a chance to be on his Flying Team.”

More patting from Armin. Eren sighed and removed his hands to stare up at the morning light that filtered through the leaves. The day was getting warmer, and his uniform was beginning to feel heavy. “Let’s go to the Terrazzo. I need to eat, get over this hangover, and then I should probably study…”

A solid pat later, and Armin was on board. “That’s the spirit!”

 

The Terrazzo was bustling with cadets, even at the early weekend hour. The Cadet Chapel loomed a ways away, a huge monument of architectural marvel. It shone silver in the sunlight, its aluminum spires towering high against blue skies that promised good weather for the day to come. The grass bordering the stone plaza remained impossibly lush and green despite the natural decay of fall. Buildings stood at a distance around the walkway, forming a huge rectangular plaza. Cadets filed in and out of buildings, with most traffic belonging to the dining and social halls.

“If you want to find a table, I’ll grab some food and meet you there,” Eren said. Armin, already having eaten, obliged and went ahead to join the flow of students on their way into the mess hall.

Mitchell Hall was a huge, spacious building housing two separate levels of tables. The tables, draped in Air Force blue cloth, were long connected rectangular rows that maximized capacity and efficiency. Weekdays found more than 4,000 cadets eating here for breakfast and lunch at 7 and 11:30 AM after conducting marches organized by squadron—between classes, of course. The routine was exact and incessant. Not being present meant hell to pay. Although Eren could do without waking up before the crack of dawn every morning, the routine never failed to jolt him alert and prepare him for the long days, one after the other. It was almost comforting to have something constant to rely on, if not for the scheduled torment he and his friends received the year prior as a fourth-class cadet. Now that he was a third-class cadet, it was his right to treat the incoming doolies in kind, but he couldn’t imagine being on the pitching end of harassment. He was here to be a pilot, not a devil.

Although, regardless of his graduation from dooly status, he was still subject to the inequalities that came with the Academy’s hierarchy. Such as now, as he waited in line, several second-class cadets cut their way in front of him as if he didn’t exist. Now that the aspirin was finally kicking in, he felt clear-headed enough for his leftover irritation from the morning’s antics to boil over into directionless anger. Of course, he knew better than to act on it. Of course, of course…

Just as he took a breath to say literally anything to start a fight, he heard a set of familiar voices approaching from behind.

Sasha Blouse and Connie Springer, two cadets from his squadron, had noticed him and were on the approach. Eren wished the second-class cadets would turn around to witness the sight of a hungry Sasha approaching—she looked ready to take a bite out of literally anything with meat on it. Connie had a firm grip on her bicep as he guided her to where Eren was standing.

“Hey Eren, my guy! How’s the hangover?” Connie slapped him on the shoulder with his free hand, grinning like he knew something Eren didn’t.

“Oh, god. I take it the two of you were there, too?”

Connie laughed, so nonchalant you wouldn’t think he was holding back a gluttonous beast of a girl who was attempting to shove his arm off with what looked like the force of a hundred cadets. “There was no way we were missing that kind of party. You’d think _you_ were the one to score that touchdown with the way you were slamming shots back. Everyone was chanting ‘Jaegerbomb’ until you hit your fifth and started getting sappy and shit.”

Eren had never wanted to disappear so badly in his life.

“And then, when you puked all over Ymir, that was _awesome_. You’re so lucky Mikasa was there or you’d literally be in a coffin right now.”

_Oh, Jesus Christ. Thanks for leaving that bit out, Armin. No wonder Ymir was pissed out of her mind._

Eren gripped his head. He needed at least five more aspirin. Hell, make it a whole bottle. “Is there anything _else_ I should know about what I did last night?”

“Those are pretty much the highlights. What, you seriously got blackout? Sasha, Jesus, chill!” Sasha’s foot had found purchase on Connie’s thigh in a further attempt to wrestle herself from her captor.

“I’m seriously never drinking again,” Eren said. Finally, they had gotten to the front of the line. Eren filled a tray and invited Connie and Sasha to join him and Armin for breakfast. Sasha, finally sated now that she had food in front of her, agreed. Connie followed suit, lips pursed as he whistled along.

They spotted Armin on the lower level, sitting alone with a textbook propped dutifully in front of him. Eren winced, and in that moment he regretted his proposition now that he actually had to follow through.

“Oh, hey guys,” Armin greeted. Connie and Sasha sat opposite of them as Eren took a seat next to Armin. “Are you studying with us?”

“Studying? Us?” Connie laughed. “We’re here to eat. Sasha, you studying?”

“Oh, did I not tell you guys?” Sasha managed to mumble around a bread roll. “I declared my major a few weeks ago. English.”

“And I’m a History major, so. That answers that,” Connie said. “I mean, we still have our core classes to worry about, but…well, we can worry about that later. Right?”

Sasha nodded in assent. “For sure.”

Armin looked baffled. “You still need to study for courses in your major though, right? Why wouldn’t you need to study?”

Sasha and Connie erupted into cackles.

“The only thing I study for is PE,” Sasha said.

“Damn right,” Connie agreed.

They could have been speaking a completely different language to Armin with the way he was looking at them with wide, confused eyes. Eren managed a laugh, glad to have a momentary distraction from his otherwise awful morning.

“Speaking of PE, if I never see another saber again, that’ll be too soon,” Eren said. “I still have bruises from last practice.”

“Because Mikasa wrecked you? Yeah, I can sympathize with that. Doesn’t help that she looks like she’s gonna murder whoever offers to be your partner. Unless it’s Armin, of course,” Connie launched a massive mound of mashed potatoes into his mouth before narrowing his eyes. “Passable.”

“She’s not that bad, guys,” Armin said in her defense.

“One time, I saw her pull out an energy bar before history, right in front of me. I pleaded her for it. Begged. We had a test that day, and I was so stressed, I forgot to pack my own snack. You know what she did? She reached out like she was gonna hand it to me. Then stuffed it in her mouth,” Sasha said. The table went silent.

“So…studying, yeah, Armin?”

“Y-yeah.”

 

Sundays always came and went too quickly. Before he knew it, it was evening, and the clear skies let the looming sunset dye the campus red. After studying with Armin, which was more or less him staring blankly at his textbooks until Armin decided he was done actually doing his work, they decided to hit the track, indirectly inspired by the cadets they’d seen earlier preparing for the fitness tests that would be coming up in two weeks’ time. They had started off timing their sprints, but after thoroughly exhausting their ability to blast themselves down the turfed straights and curves, they’d switched to long distance. They wrapped up their conditioning as the sun dropped and temperatures cooled, exhausted but satisfied with their proactivity.

They hadn’t been joined by Connie or Sasha, who decided they still had time to prepare for the test. Instead, they’d been tracked down by Mikasa, who blew her friends out of the water with her run times.

They headed to the bleachers’ edge around the track to recover and stretch. Eren nudged Mikasa. “Sometimes I feel like your talent is wasted on the fencing team.”

Mikasa shrugged. “I wouldn’t have any fun if I wasn’t with you and Armin.”

“I can see that,” Eren said. He stood to help Armin reach his feet as he stretched his legs, gently pushing his shoulders forward.

“We’d miss you too,” Armin added with a pointed glance at Eren. He shrugged.

“Eren Jaeger.”

The boy in question looked up and stiffened, chills running down his spine. It was the Cadet Wing Commander. He hadn’t seen him walk up, the sneaky bastard.

_Freaking bowl cut._

“Sir!” Eren stood and saluted his senior. He knew exactly why Marlowe was here. _This really has not been my day._

“We conducted a room inspection today at 0900. Were you aware of the condition of your room, Cadet Jaeger?”

“Yes sir!”

“You failed.”

“Apologies sir!”

A few seconds of silence passed before Marlowe sighed. “Seriously, Jaeger, at ease. I’m fucking with you.” Eren relaxed. Was Marlowe in some kind of saintly mood today? Was this a miracle? “Look, you failed, but I’m the one who conducted the inspection. Just be glad Hitch didn’t see it, or you’d be cooked. I’m not gonna file a Letter of Counseling, but if you fail again, you’ll be forcing my hand. I’m not a nice guy. But your show with your falcon yesterday…” Marlowe smirked. “Hitch threw an actual fit about how you think you’re so much better than her, and as the Master Falconer, she can’t let that slide. It was hilarious. So I’ll let you go, but next time, no falcon is gonna save you. Got it?”

Eren sent a quick prayer of gratitude to Titan. “Got it.”

Marlowe nodded to Mikasa and Armin. “Carry on, cadets.”

Once Marlowe was out of sight, Eren collapsed onto the ground, relief and exhaustion washing over him. He just wanted the sweet abyss of sleep. And a possibility to never wake up.

“We should call it a day,” Mikasa said, eyeing Eren with concern. Eren didn’t even have the energy to retort for no reason as he typically would: _“No, let’s go another lap,” “No, I’m not that weak,”_ etcetera. He just nodded and let Mikasa help him up and lead him back to the dorms.

 

“You fucking horsefaced imbecile. That’s not what I said.”

“So who’s betting on Captain Ral?”

Jean Kirstein, the duke of idiocy, prince of irritation, and chancellor of all things dumbass was at it again, mouth firmly set in a wide smirk as he taunted Eren from across the mess table. It was way too early for this; Eren, for the second night in a row, slept like shit, mostly due to the whirling self-resentment that tormented his conscious mind into the early hours of the morning regarding his entire weekend. He couldn’t exactly do much to escape his own thoughts at 2 in the morning. Maybe he needed to invest in a bottle of NyQuil.

It was now just past seven, and Eren’s squadron was decked out in their green ABUs after morning training. Combat boot clad feet just barely refrained from dragging while they had marched to Mitchell Hall with the thousands of other cadets, seeking reprieve in hot food and coffee. After everyone was seated and decidedly exhausted, Jean had taken it upon himself to bring up the past Saturday, but not only that, no—he had to bring up the one subject Eren least wanted to confront anyone about.

Reiner, the bastard, decided to chime in. “My vote’s on Zoë.”

They were seriously talking about which captain Eren had been talking about in his idiotic, drunken stupor. Hilarious.

“Zoë is a squad leader, not a captain, idiot.” The comment, mumbled from a largely disinterested Annie Leonhart, wasn’t exactly helpful, but it was an opening Eren could use.

“Why are you people even talking about this? Can’t we just eat? This is moronic. Way to beat a dead horse, horseface,” Eren said, trying his best to glare daggers at his assailant, but he doubted he looked very threatening past the purple bags under his eyes.

“Guys, he’s right.” Surprisingly, the support came from Ymir. Eren watched her warily as she continued. “If we guess the right captain, he might pop an admiration boner, and I’m not subjecting Historia to that in front of her breakfast.”

Howls of laughter were quickly shut down by surrounding squadrons, and Eren had no words to say anymore. He spooned some oatmeal into his mouth and decided to try his best to ignore them. But it was so, so hard to ignore them when they took his silence as a group victory.

“Eren, Eren, seriously. Just tell us. You’re never gonna hear the end of it if you don’t, so just rip the pussy band-aid off now and we can move on with our lives.” Jean was actually wiping tears from his eyes.

“With your squirrel-sized attention span, you’ll get bored of your stupid interrogation in minutes, Jean,” Eren snapped. “Go ahead and move on already.”

“Oh my god. Wait. You’re like, _obsessed_ with the Flight Team, right?”

Of course it was Ymir.

“Guys, you’re so off. You’re not even guessing the right gender.”

All eyes were on Ymir. Eren couldn’t believe this. He was seriously, indefinitely, never drinking again.

“It’s Captain Levi fucking Ackerman.”

Leave it to Ymir.

Eren’s face burned. The eyes that were so fervently locked on Ymir turned to him, and he felt his flush deepen. _Really, I swear, I just respect him, he’s an incredible pilot, he’s everything I want to be, just let me have a fucking hero, please—_

The deafening silence gave way to Jean’s hysterical bark of a laugh. He didn’t even say anything—he didn’t need to, he didn’t have to give Eren anything to go off of to defend himself. If Eren said what he was thinking right now, it wouldn’t do him any good. The whole squadron would simply continue to think he had some weird crush on the flight instructor of the Flight Team. He doubted they even considered how seriously he took glider training, how earnestly he wanted to be one of the skilled and lucky few to receive instruction from Captain Ackerman himself.

Somehow, though, Jean was the only one laughing.

“Oh, you know, I kinda get that,” Connie said.

Historia, angel Historia, added, “He’s scary, but in a way that almost forces you to respect him.”

“I wouldn’t want to go through a practice with him on my ass. Kudos to you, Eren, for wanting to serve under that monster,” Reiner said.

Eren picked his head up. Jean wasn’t laughing anymore, but rolled his eyes instead. “Yeah, well, whatever. That was fun. Thanks for the entertainment, Captain’s pet.”

God, did Eren ever want to reach across the table and punch the daylights out of that idiot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Terms to Know:
> 
> Freshmen: Fourth-class cadets  
> Sophomores: Third-class cadets  
> Juniors: Second-class cadets  
> Seniors: First-class cadets  
> Dooly: Fourth-class cadets are often referred to as "doolies," a term derived from the Greek word δοῦλος ("doulos") meaning "slave" or "servant." Don’t call Mikasa a dooly unless you want to get your teeth knocked out.  
> ABU: Airmen Battle Uniform (most commonly worn uniform)  
> LOC: Letter of Counseling, a less severe formal documenting of a behavioral infraction.  
> Flight Team: A powered flight program is conducted under the 557th Flying Training Squadron to expose cadets to the basics of powered flight. The program uses T-53A aircraft to offer cadets basic flight training and the opportunity to solo. The U.S. Air Force Academy Flying Team is composed of ~26 cadets selected to compete in National Intercollegiate Flying Association competitions. So says Almighty Wikipedia.
> 
> Thanks for reading! Things start off slow, but if everything goes the way I've outlined, it should pick up around chapter four or so.
> 
> P.S. - for Ymir's last name, I just figured I'd use Historia's alias because to me in a weird way that basically makes them married. I'll be adding minor character relationship tags as they become relevant (gotta leave SOME mystery on who's fucking who), but this is primarily an Ereri fic. Because yeah.
> 
> I'd love to hear any thoughts or criticisms you may have! Til next time!


	2. Support

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eren can’t catch a break, Jean is a jerk, Mikasa is a godsend, Armin knows what’s best for everyone, and Reiner comes up with something brilliant and absolutely foolproof. Probably.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for homophobic language this chapter.  
> SPOILER WARNING for Zeke’s character. If you’re not caught up on the manga and you care, I would suggest not reading further. EDIT: this spoiler should be irrelevant by the end of Season 3 Part 2, so feel free to come back to this after the zekret is revealed.  
> Otherwise, enjoy the shoulder slapping!

_A good plan executed now is better than a perfect plan executed next week._

Soaring was as exhilarating as it was terrifying. Thousands of feet above the Rocky Mountain landscape, Eren’s grip on the control stick in front of him was one of belligerent determination and will. The tow plane attached far to the front of his glider was headed up into the sky.

“Holy—Eren, she’s making us do a roll!”

“We’ve got this, Armin! Let’s do it!”

Under his confident façade, Eren’s stomach was doing rolls of its own. As they lifted, the change in altitude and velocity sent blood rushing to his head as they were propelled skyward. He pushed his feet forward to secure a solid stance against the floor of the cockpit, and his hold on the stick turned deadly in an effort to keep it steady. Armin, seated behind him, was yelling something, but Eren could hear nothing beyond the pounding that laid siege to his head as they reached the top of the loop and were entirely upside down, weightless.

_Is this what Titan feels like?_

Moments—he couldn’t tell if they were past or future—flashed through his mind’s eye. He saw jets fly with the same proud elegance as his falcon, and he could vicariously feel the G pull on his body as the jets rolled and turned and spun. He recalled the first air show his parents ever brought him to when he was ten. Nothing had ever looked so aweing, so inspiring to him before that first flyover, when the prolonged scream of the jets, faster than sound, beckoned to him like a prophecy from fate itself. When he told himself he would become a pilot.

The mountain range was now the sky, the sky the ground. The inverted laws of nature and the rejection of gravity itself was intoxicating. As the landscape began to flip once more, returning to the natural order of things, Eren hazily decided it ended all too quickly. He didn’t need to be soaring on an engineless glider. He needed to be flying real planes.

They landed all too soon. Their cadet flight instructor jumped out of her tow plane and headed over as Eren opened the cockpit. The hiss it emitted was the disappointing signal that the fun portion of class was over.

“Jaeger and Arlert,” said first-class cadet Rico Brzenska as she propped her hip on the nose of the glider. “Get out here.”

Eren and Armin unfastened themselves and exited, saluting their senior cadet once their feet found the concrete ground of the runway outside the glider. Eren felt like he could barely remember the whole flight—everything happened so fast, although the flight itself had lasted much longer than the moments he could piece together. He blamed it on the adrenaline.

“Jaeger, I don’t know if that roll made you shit yourself, but you totally shut down after that. No response from you whatsoever. We’re more than halfway through the semester, you should be able to follow my flight pattern to a T. It took forever to get us back here. You’ve got a control stick in there, right? So use it. If you can’t handle a roll in a glider, you’ll never be able to handle flight in a real plane. Am I clear?”

Eren felt his insides twist in the worst way with each progressive criticism. Rico wasn’t even being harsh; he couldn’t remember getting back, so it was entirely probable that he hadn’t followed her direction at all. It could have been disastrous if Rico wasn’t a competent instructor.

“Yes ma’am!”

She crossed her arms, but her frown eased. “Look. Up to that point, you were doing fine. You handled the turns well. But you should be able to handle a roll, especially after the simulation training you all got beaten into your skulls last year. I just don’t want to see any cadets get themselves killed this year. Got it?”

“Yes ma’am!”

“And Arlert. If Jaeger’s non-responsive, it’s _your_ duty as a copilot to take over. You aren’t just cockpit decoration, you’re not a fucking passenger, and I know you’re not an idiot. Knock some sense into this cadet,” she added, gesturing to Eren.

“Yes ma’am!”

Rico nodded, pleased with her apprentice cadets’ responses. “Dismissed. Regroup with your squadron.”

The two boys saluted their goodbyes and jogged back down the runway where the other squadrons were grouped, waiting to be dismissed from class. Eren glanced over, relieved to see that Armin looked just as frustrated at him.

“Sorry for freaking out. I guess the roll got to me,” he offered.

“You…weren’t saying anything, Eren. I couldn’t see you because of your helmet, but I thought—I thought something happened. I felt like Mikasa, I was sick with worry. You seemed like you were ready for it, but…” He paused, as if contemplating whether he should continue. “Are you really thinking about taking the parachuting course next semester?”

Eren’s eyes widened. Did Armin really mean that? “What? What are you talking about? Of course I am. I’m getting my cadet flight wings, my solo wings, _and_ my parachute wings this year. It’s worthless otherwise. I wouldn’t stand a chance getting on the Flying Team if I didn’t. Are you joking?”

Armin wasn’t looking at him anymore. “Yeah, sure. I was joking. Sorry.”

Willing to let the poor joke slide, Eren punched him lightly on the shoulder. “Thanks for worrying about me. But Mikasa’s more than enough for that. Let’s just focus on doing a better job next time, or we’ll never get to solo.” They reached the end of the runway, where cadets from their squadron who had already landed were waiting. From a quick headcount, Eren realized they were the last ones to arrive.

“Look who decided to show up,” Jean said. “We all thought you two were the first casualties of the season.” His soaring partner and alleged best friend, Marco Bott, nudged him from behind.

“Jean, really?” he said. His tone was that of a scolding mother. Jean deserved worse, and Marco needed better taste in friends. To Eren and Armin, he said, “We were worried, you guys are fifteen minutes late. We started to assume the worst.”

Eren groaned internally. All because he had some weird freak-out moment, and it took Rico longer to land them all. Great.

Wait. Where was—

Out of seemingly nowhere, Mikasa rushed him and Armin, a blur of black hair and green uniform. She had her hands all over Eren in seconds, checking for god knows what injuries before moving on to Armin. “What happened? Are you guys hurt? I swear to god if that bitch Rico did anything to you two—”

Eren held a hand up as if the gesture would soothe her worried onslaught. Her eyes narrowed at it. “Mikasa, we wouldn’t be back here if we were hurt. It was my fault we were late… We can talk about it later,” he added, not wanting to give Jean any more content to harass him with. Mikasa gave him a long look, and Eren had the sudden notion that she was thinking something along the lines of what Armin had said to him earlier. That was going to be a hard conversation to have with her—she was much more stubborn than Armin, and the last thing he wanted was to argue in front of the rest of their squadron.

“Hey, Mikasa, I think I may have pulled a couple G’s up there,” Jean said, scratching his head. “I still feel sorta fuzzy, you know.

Mikasa didn’t bother to spare him a glance. “That so?”

Eren shot the other boy a smirk, to which Jean returned in kind with his middle finger.

With class finished for the day, the squadron lined up to be dismissed by the head soaring instructor, Petra Ral. She gave a general order to brush up on weather effects on glider speed and velocity before dismissing all squadrons. Most cadets scattered away in different directions, but Eren’s squadron (save Reiner and Bertolt, who followed the rest of the crowd) were all headed to the same place. As he jogged in step with Mikasa and Armin, he mentally prepared himself for the upcoming torturous hours of sweat and sabers.

  

Thin metal whipped through stagnant air as two fencers parried blows. An opening presented itself, and with lithe reflexes, Eren lunged low outside where his opponent couldn’t possibly react in time to parry the attack away. The tip of his sword made contact with vest, and Eren clenched his free fist in a rush of satisfaction. He supposed fencing wasn’t so bad when he wasn’t getting his ass beat by Mikasa.

“You tired of losing yet, horseface?” Eren jibed, removing his face mask. Sweaty hair that had grown out from his mandatory buzz cut as a fourth-class cadet clung to his forehead, emphasizing the short bangs that framed his face. He was decked head to toe in white fencing gear, still locked in his stance. “Or do you wanna go another round?”

Jean removed his own mask, loathing and irritation evident on his scowl. “You fence like a bitch.”

“If I fence like a bitch, how would you classify your own fencing? Worse than shit?”

“Shut up, faggot.”

Eren had Jean’s uniform in his fist in an instant. “What the _fuck_ did you just call me?”

“Cadets!”

At the sound of their instructor’s intervention and just as quickly as he’d lunged, Eren released Jean but kept blazing, hating eyes on him all the same. From the other end of the padded gym, Coach Hannes approached the two young men and clasped a hand on the shoulder of each. 

“We aren’t having any disorderly conduct over here, are we, cadets?” Hannes asked, taking his time looking between both boys.

Jean was the first to answer. “No, sir, not at all. Eren was just pissed because—”

“Did I ask, Kirstein?”

Jean quickly shut up. “No sir!”

Hannes looked to Eren. “And you, Jaeger. You realize fencing doesn’t involve hand-to-hand combat, right?”

It took a moment for Eren to cool his head. He couldn’t get a LOC over Jean being…Jean. He had to swallow his pride for a second. A LOC could ruin his chances of ever being on the Flight Team the following year. He couldn’t have anything on his record whatsoever, and he’d already had a close call with his failed room inspection. “Yes sir!”

Hannes patted both on the back. “Good men. Now Kirstein, the reason your parry was weak…”

As Hannes turned his instructing attention to Jean, Eren felt a tug on his sleeve. He turned to see Mikasa standing there, mask off to present him with narrowed eyes brimming with disapproval. “If you would have just fenced with me like usual, this wouldn’t have happened.”

Eren suppressed a groan. “Do you realize how sick and tired I am of losing to you? It gets old. Anyway, Armin’s waiting over there, so I’d go back to your partner and leave me alone. I can handle myself.”

“You don’t look like you’re handling yourself that well at all, actually,” she said. “You still haven’t told me what happened with the glider.”

“Mikasa, I really don’t have the time or patience to argue with you right now. I have a horseface to beat.” Eren shoved her off, returning his attention to Jean and Hannes. Having finished their mini-lesson, Eren slipped his mask back on prepared to go at it again just as Hannes called it a wrap for practice.

“Cadets dismissed. Cool down and stretch out before leaving,” Hannes directed. Everyone saluted and began to file out into the locker room when Eren was called over once more by Hannes.

“Jaeger, what the hell was that?” Hannes’s voice was stern, and his arms were crossed in an effort to look imposing. “I’m disappointed in your conduct today. If you’d have actually hit Kirstein, that would’ve easily been worse than a LOC—I’ve written Letters of Reprimand before, and I’ll do it again, regardless of who I’m giving it to. Honestly, I could have a LOC processed now just for your threat of violence against another cadet.”

“But he—”

“It doesn’t matter what he did. You need to realize there’s more at stake here than your own pride. Have you thought about what your parents would say?”

Eren bowed his head and looked away. His father was an Army medic, and his mother worked in the Army engineering department at West Point. Their disappointment when Eren decided to forego his legacy opportunity had hurt him, but so far, he liked to think he’d been making them proud, earning competent scores on benchmarks and proving himself to be a well-rounded cadet. Well, he still didn’t have the courage to send his parents his transcript each semester…but they were already well aware academia had never been his strong suit. Besides, he strapped down and studied for subjects that actually mattered, as well as when his GPA was direly in need of a boost. But that didn’t change the fact that if he couldn’t prove himself to be the airman he’d promised his parents he would become (“There are flight programs at West Point!” from his mother), the bombardment of pleas to transfer would never cease. Sneaky bastard Hannes as an old friend of his family’s knew exactly what he was doing by pulling that card.

“Yeah. It won’t happen again, sir. I swear,” Eren said, head hanging low. Hannes served him a rough pat Eren assumed was meant to be reassuring before dismissing him. He dragged himself to the locker room, his body hot with the shame that burned as a byproduct of reprimand.

Connie, Marco, and Jean had already redressed in their ABUs, preparing to head to Mitchell Hall for dinner. Usually, Eren was starving after a long practice, but he couldn’t even feel his stomach. The weight of his actions over the past couple days was wearing on him. Luckily, Jean must have internalized something from Hannes’s call out, because he said nothing to Eren when he passed to open his locker. First time for everything. He changed silently next to Armin, who waited for him.

Mikasa was seated on a long bench that bridged the gap between the entrances of the men’s and women’s locker rooms. Eren and Armin took a seat on either side of her, and Eren waited for the interrogation to begin.

“What did Hannes say to you?” Mikasa asked. She was still fiddling with her uniform, adjusting her cap over her low, short ponytail.

“Not much…just that I need to think about why I’m here and what the hell I’m actually doing,” Eren replied sans his normal gusto. He couldn’t believe just days ago he ranted about being the best graduate the Academy had ever seen.

Rather than instigate Eren further by agreeing with him, Mikasa looked at him directly, features set in a serious tenseness that almost made Eren gulp. “You can’t get down on yourself like this,” she began. “If you doubt yourself, you’re only going to make more mistakes. You haven’t told me everything that happened today, but if you keep beating yourself up about small things, you’ll never learn the bigger picture. I know you probably don’t want to hear any of this…but in any case, you’ll always have Armin and I to support you. Right, Armin?” Their friend had been listening intently, not sure whether to add his two cents or not, but the cue from Mikasa was all he needed.

“Of course! You’re not in this alone, Eren. You’ve never been!” he was smiling that bright smile of his that could light up a room. That heavy, empty feeling fled his body, and he felt compassion and gratitude for his friends replace it.

“Thank you, Mikasa,” he said. “I’ve been kind of a dick to you these past couple days, haven’t I? But…thanks. And I’m sorry.”

Mikasa finally smiled. He felt like he hadn’t seen her do that in ages—probably because when he wasn’t making her worried, he was berating her. He’d have to change the part of him that always wanted to rebel against her like she was his mother, wagging her finger and telling him no at everything he wanted to do. She wasn’t like that, but Eren had somehow made her out to be that way.

“It’s alright. But,” her tone dropped an octave, “you _will_ be telling me what happened this afternoon. Without a single detail left out. You don’t want me to hear it from Armin.”

Both boys visibly swallowed. “Y-yes ma’am.”

 

Instead of heading straight to the mess hall, Eren figured he should pay a visit to the falcon stable to tend to Titan. He promised Mikasa he’d tell her everything that happened during training over dinner, so she and Armin had left to study in one of the many lounges belonging to the social hall next to Mitchell on the Terazzo. He mazed his way through the multiple, expansive gyms housed in the Cadet Gymnasium, still uncomfortably hot and sweaty under his ABU. 

The warm outside air did nothing to help with his fatigue, but he trudged dutifully along the familiar path just off the track field until he reached the stable. He could hear falcons calling from within and assumed his Squad Leader was inside, but just before entering, he heard two voices emanating from the open entrance. One of which made his stomach clench. 

“This filth is below my fucking pay grade.” Captain Levi Ackerman himself was in there. In the Falconry stable. Again.

 _Why god?_

Eren ducked away from the entrance, concealing himself behind a sparse bush that offered cover only up to his hips. He clasped his hand over his mouth for no real reason, as there was no way anyone from inside the stable could hear his quickened breath or hammering heart. 

“Well, I appreciate you, too,” Hange replied in that way of hers that implied she was either socially daft or too secure to give a single shit. Eren was willing to bet on the latter. “Cadet Dreyse was supposed to help clean and feed the little beauties after her classes, but her superior notified me that she got pulled into extra flight training. You know how it goes for firsties, always so busy with this and that.”

“So you called _me_ to help you with a _cadet’s_ chores that the brat just so happened to skip out on. Un-fucking-believable.” 

“Aw, don’t be like that, Levi! We haven’t hung out in _ages!_ What was I supposed to do?”

“Invite me out for a drink like a normal fucking human being. Or better yet, take a hint.”

Eren squeezed his eyes shut as Hange laughed. He really didn’t understand what was going on. Was this…some weird kind of banter? Were they friends? Old buddies? Lovers?

“You know, you could’ve asked that other shitty slacking brat to make up for the shit he pulled the other day, screaming his lungs out so early in the morning. What was his name? Cadet…Jaego or someshit?” Eren’s knees fell out and his ass hit the ground _hard._ He wordlessly pleaded for Hange not to correct him—the last thing he needed was for Levi to remember him as a “shitty slacking brat,” and if he had the wrong name, it wouldn’t be a problem. He doubted Levi had gotten a good look at him with his head between his knees that morning.

“Oh, you mean Jaeger?” _Dammit Hange._ “He’s hardly slacking!” _Bless you Hange._ “He’s one of the most passionate Falconers on the squad. You should see the way he treats Titan—if she wasn’t a bird, I’d say he was in love! Well, I mean, I guess he _could_ love her even if she’s a bird…”

Oh god. Now Levi was going to think he was a bird-fucker.

Instead of snarking back, however, Levi said, “Well. I suppose that’s high praise coming from you, shitty glasses.”

Hange hummed, and Eren heard the flap of wings accompanied by satisfied caws. He instantly recognized Titan’s distinct pitch, and his shoulders relaxed a fraction. He felt he had already lost the opportunity to make his entrance, so he was relieved it seemed that someone else would be taking care of his falcon—again. Titan was going to be pissed at him the next time he saw her, neglecting her like this. But as he picked himself up, ready to leave the two alone to continue…whatever it was they were doing, someone called out to him.

“Ah, hey Eren! What are you doing out here?”

And that someone was none other than another third-class Falconer, Floch Forster. He approached at a lazy jog, waving in an exaggerated fashion that was almost as stupid as his hair. There was no way he hadn’t seen Eren purposefully hiding in that bush just a moment ago. There was also no way Levi and Hange hadn’t heard him.

_Yep. I’m out of here._

Before he could be spotted, Eren made a mad dash away from the stable, giving Floch a solid shove with his soulder as he passed. He didn’t look back; he couldn’t tell if Levi and Hange had actually stepped out to see what was going on, but he wasn’t about to stop to check. He ran like hell all the way back to Arnold Hall, winded and more aggravated than he’d been in a long time. Honestly, if he kept this up, he’d probably end up running away from the Captain altogether and pass up an opportunity to be on the Flying Team. Why was he so flustered? Sure, eavesdropping on two senior officers was weird and definitely could have been avoided if Eren hadn’t been caught off-guard by encountering Levi randomly _again,_ but it wasn’t an actual offense. He could have just walked in and made up some random excuse about being outside the stable. That would be so much better than what was probably being said about him now between Floch, Hange and Levi. Eren Jaeger, the bird-fucking eavesdropper. What an impression.

He focused on catching his breath while he wandered the many study lounges of Arnold Hall, keeping an eye out for Mikasa and Armin. Finally, after minutes of interrupting people in several private study rooms, he found them sitting in silence at the end of a corridor, neatly seated on blue cushioned couches with textbooks in front of them. They were joined by Marco and Annie, and Eren had to do a double take to make sure his eyes weren’t deceiving him. 

“Hey guys,” he said, approaching with caution. He didn’t know what it was about Annie, but something about her stone cold gaze could probably stop even Captain Levi in his tracks. Absolutely not someone he wanted to mess with. “Studying hard?”

Mikasa, oblivious to his discomfort at the unexpected company, fixed him with a look that told him there was no bullshitting his way out of talking to her now. “Eren.”

Eren was a hothead, but he knew when it was time to fight with Mikasa and when it was time to throw in the towel. Instead of pushing his luck, he sunk into the space between Mikasa and Armin on the couch and without ceremony began regaling the thrilling details of his failure to keep his shit together during soaring practice. Mikasa listened silently as he spoke, not offering a single hint of positive or negative emotion until he finished with, “And then we got chewed out by Instructor Brzenska, and that was it.”

He figured she would say something similar to what Armin had offered after they’d landed—demanding that he give up, that he should stop trying, that it was pointless to push himself in places he couldn’t keep up. But she just sat there, watching him for endless moments after he’d finished speaking. 

“Well…aren’t you going to say anything?” he asked, more worried now about how she would react than the fact that Annie and Marco had heard his entire spiel.

“Let me be honest with you.” _Crap._ “Armin and I have spoken about this before. Remember Field Day?”

Really, how could Eren forget? The summer before their first year at the Academy, all freshly admitted cadets were required to participate in six weeks of Basic Cadet Training—a hellish physical, mental, and emotional experience meant to eradicate the civilian lifestyle and mentality most kids their age had culminated throughout their young lives. The peak of BCT, dubbed “Field Day” (which made it sound like a fun elementary school activity rather than the torture it had actually been) was the nightmarish blue icing on the insidious AFA cake that weeded out the weak from the strong. Most people dropped out by this point. Eren had almost been one of those people—although the marks he had received to that point of BCT were high enough to get him on the honor squadron he now inhabited with his friends, he had hit a wall come Field Day, which required flawless teamwork and maximum effort for its entire duration to successfully complete the trials they were given. A dehydrated, demoralized Eren had passed out at the tail-end of the day while competing in a cross-country tactical relay race. It was a mortifying experience that had docked him points, and he had been ready to give in to his parents’ doubts, his friends’ cautions, and his own self-deprecation at the thought of losing his foothold on his dreams. But the two who had found him—Mikasa and Armin—had helped him up, supported him, given him a second wind when he was at his lowest. The deep bond they shared now was thanks to their fast friendship, their differences that complemented their similarities, and their appreciation for each other. So Eren decided, for once, to shut up and listen to Mikasa’s honesty—whether he liked it or not.

After a long silence, he spoke. “Yeah.”

She finally cracked a soft smile that graced the corners of her lips. Eren could barely keep his jaw from dropping at the sight. “You messed up. You’re human. But I know you, and you can come back from this. It’s the same thing I told you earlier. You’re better than this, so stop worrying so much and leave that to me.” She nudged him gently with her shoulder. “Armin and I can only root for you so far. You need to start rooting for yourself.”

Eren was dumbstruck. He couldn’t say anything. Truly, what had he done to deserve Mikasa?

She took his silence as good as a “yes ma’am” and stood, stretching herself out casually as if she hadn’t just breathed new life into Eren’s entire perspective. “Okay, then. Let’s go eat.”

As they walked as a group to the mess hall, Annie fell in step with Mikasa, while Marco lagged behind the girls with Eren and Armin. “Is it just me or does Mikasa actually turn into an angel when Eren’s around?” he asked, staring wide-eyed at her like she was from a different planet. “Are you like…a shaman or something?”

Eren laughed. It was rather ironic hearing that from Marco. “If you actually think Mikasa is all sunshine and rainbows, you’d be horribly mistaken, Marco.” He and Armin exchanged a knowing glance before he continued, “But yeah, she’s something else.”

They ran into Reiner and Bertolt in the mess hall, the remainders of their squadron that had yet to finish dinner. After everyone was plated and seated, however, it became apparent that they had been waiting for them to arrive. More specifically, for him, Armin and Marco. Bunched together at the end of the table while Annie and Mikasa cast suspicious looks their way, Reiner hunched over with his hand cupped around his mouth for maximum secrecy.

“You guys ever been to a _real_ club?” Reiner’s grin was as honest as it was mischievous.

Out of the corner of his eye, Eren saw Armin drop his fork. “What?”

Reiner’s grin widened. “I’m saying, have you ever drank in a place that wasn’t a random cadet’s _parent’s_ basement, a _real_ establishment with those classy mixed drinks and a DJ that didn’t blast the same overplayed remixes all night? A utopia that didn’t smell like old socks and the sweat of a hundred greasy underage cadets?”

“Reiner, _we’re_ underage,” Marco offered, and Eren could tell that he and Armin weren’t fans of where this was headed.

But Eren was.

“Wait, no, go on,” Eren urged. His grin matched Reiner’s. “I’m dying to hear where you’re going with this.”

“I told you he’d be on board,” Reiner directed at Bertolt. He shrugged, as if to say, _“Do whatever you want.”_ “That’s good, Eren. Because, like Marco generously pointed out, we’re underage. And if we’re talking real clubs, we’re talking those 21 and up places down in Colorado Springs. What would we need to get into a real club, Eren?”

Armin quickly interjected, “A _real ID._ ”

“A _fake ID,”_ Eren corrected. He was beaming, and it was hard to keep quiet. He realized then why the conversation called for privacy; if Annie or Mikasa had been included, all of their teeth would be knocked out by now. Going off-base to a house party was one thing; it was hard to get caught by cops when there was always some paranoid cadet on the lookout, and if you were fast on your feet, your chances of getting exposed at a busted party were slim as long as you caught a trusted ride back to base in time for curfew. But there was something thrilling about infiltrating a club—the taboo of falsifying his identity for a night of debauchery was tantalizingly tempting, and Eren immediately found himself renouncing his sobriety. After all, wasn’t it hard to get absolutely shitfaced when the venue provided so much more than the bare minimum of desperate underage antics? The novelty of the hatching plan was thrilling.

“You beautiful bastard. Exactly. But this is where Bert and I hit a wall. Out of everyone we know, who has the contacts to get us something like this?”

 _Oh._ Eren’s face fell as the reality of the plan sunk in. If they asked the wrong person, the mere insinuation of breaking a law would get everyone involved into deep shit. Jealousy and righteousness were powerful incentives for snitches. LORs would be the least of their concerns; expulsion was at stake here. The Commandant of Cadets was not a trifling man. Eren felt his enthusiasm flee as quickly as it had come. Was the reward really worth the risk?

“No one, I’d say.”

“Ah, but you’d say wrong, my friend.” Reiner’s grin remained. “Because that person is you.”

“Me? How?”

Reiner chuckled, and even Bertolt looked amused. Armin seemed to have realized something Eren hadn’t, and he held his hands up as if to stave off whatever Reiner was to say next. “Guys, no, that’s a horrible idea!”

“Shh!”

They all glanced over at Annie and Mikasa, who had at some point become bored worrying about their scheming and were deep in a conversation of their own. They weren’t paying the boys any attention. Probably.

“Our coach, Eren,” Bertolt said simply. “He’s our contact.”

“My _brother?”_ Eren, in a hundred years, never would have considered requesting fake IDs from his brother. But the apparent confidence of the two relit his cindered investment in the plan. Asking his half-brother for this kind of favor was a zero-loss situation, surely. He wouldn’t turn them all in if Eren was going to end up a victim of his honesty; after all, growing up he’d heard stories of the borderline crimes his brother had committed as a cadet himself. It kept family reunions interesting, if nothing else. At the time, Eren had almost thought less of him for it and considered the fact that his brother graduated was nothing short of a miracle. As his star players, Reiner and Bertolt must have picked up on their coach’s less-than-honorable past demeanor. The more he thought about it, the more the plan clicked, and Eren had to hand it to them. They had actually thought this through.

“Yes. This only works if he agrees, and you’re the only one he’d pull these kinds of strings for. Work your Jaeger magic, and we’ll all be having a real celebration after our last home game. At least, that’s the plan so far,” Reiner said.

Devious excitement pulsed through Eren. He was hooked. Before he could open his mouth to agree, Armin was already speaking lame reason. “This is ludicrous. Say he even agrees to get us these—which if he gets caught, he’ll be in huge trouble _as well_ —but what if someone recognizes us? Going out in public is different than messing around with other cadets. How can you be so sure we won’t run into an officer? We’d be expelled! Marco?” Armin looked to the only other person with actual sense and foresight at their end of the table, and from the look on his face, he didn’t need to say anything at all to let the others know that he agreed with Armin.

“It’s…too risky. Eren, aren’t you scared of getting in trouble? There are so many ways this whole thing could go wrong…”

All Eren needed was a challenge, and Marco just gave it to him. “Me? Scared? Yeah, I’d be scared if I thought we’re stupid enough to get caught. Reiner, I’ve always thought you were a real stand-up guy—sure, maybe with a bit of a stick up your ass, but look at you now.”

Reiner shrugged. “I do what I can.”

“No, this is the best thing I’ve heard in weeks. Sorry, Armin. I’m in.”

 

Getting to his brother was a cinch when his accomplices were members of the football team. Eren didn’t often interact with his half-brother—sometimes the man would spare a moment to chat after one of Eren’s performances at half-time shows, but those moments were rare, and there was really no reason for Eren to seek him out otherwise since he had practically nothing to do with the team. Other than, of course, using his connections for illegal endeavors.

There was a bit of running around to do, as they had to first find the man to ask him for the million-dollar favor. Luckily, they spotted an assistant coach loitering around the football field, and after few choice lies from Reiner (“Coach wanted to see me to discuss some plays for our next game,”) they were directed to the field house. Once they reached the door, Reiner and Bertolt gave Eren a quick thumbs-up each before opening it and shoving him inside.

The inside of the field house was armed to the teeth with workout equipment. Racks of free weights lined each mirrored wall, and there was probably one barbell station per member of the football team. In the middle of the interior, wood and rubber raised platforms protruded from the floor, accompanied by heavy plates that rested between triangular iron dividers between each section. Climbing ropes hung down from the ceiling to one end, and other mechanical weight machines decorated the back end of the building. The only occupant other than Eren was a blond bespectacled man towards the back, holding a barbell adorned with several 45-pound plates across his shoulders, mid-squat.

“Eren!”

In mere seconds, Zeke Jaeger hitched the barbell to its unit and was approaching Eren, arms spread wide as if to hug him. Eren eyed the sweat that gleamed off his brother’s bare chest and took a deep breath in preparation for his impending suffocation, but instead of hugging him, he was clapped firmly on both shoulders and shaken like a flimsy tree.

“Zeke, hey,” Eren managed once he was released. At least Zeke seemed to be in a good mood—good. He needed all the odds he could get. 

“What brings you here?” Zeke asked. He popped the cap off a water bottle and drank the entire thing in three long gulps before tossing it behind him. Eren didn’t know why he found that strangely intimidating, but as he mustered up a half-hearted smile, he realized the first fault in their brilliant plan.

What was he _actually_ going to say to Zeke?

“Y-you know how you used to tell me stories when I was little?” Eren began. _Wow, compelling start, Eren._ “About your time, you know…as a cadet?”

Zeke laughed. Another good sign. “Of course! Ah, those were good times. Even better that Father tried to use me as an example for you back then. As if you wanting to come here meant you were automatically gonna end up like me. But look at you now! Already a third-class cadet, honor squadron, doing your falcon thing. You’re my pride and joy, Eren, sticking it to Father like that.”

Eren didn’t know how to continue after all that. How could he admit to wanting to do…well, some of the same exact things Zeke used to do? What was he supposed to say? Did he beat around the bush, try to butter Zeke up? Say it was for science? Say it was so he could possibly get laid by someone he wouldn’t ever need to concern himself with seeing on campus?

“I…need a fake ID,” he mumbled. This was it. This was his big plan.

Zeke cupped his ear. Eren couldn’t tell if he was mocking him. “Come again?”

“Me, Reiner and Bertolt. We all want fake IDs…we had, kind of, this whole idea to go out after the last home game…you’ve been having such a good season, and we’re sick of those cramped get-togethers everyone calls parties, you know? We want to go out and do something actually fun. And I thought, maybe if it was you, you could help us somehow…” Eren stared up at his brother, reminiscent of the pouty expression he used on Zeke as a kid when he wanted something his parents weren’t willing to give him: an extra slice of holiday pie, some expensive birthday present, anything he could get from Zeke when he visited. It had always worked on him then, but Eren wasn’t a kid anymore. He wondered if it would even do anything.

And from the looks of it—rather, from the sound of Zeke’s _laugh,_ it did.

“Eren, you! You’re everything I’d ever hoped you’d be, ha!” Eren had no idea what was going on inside his brother’s head anymore, but he was pretty sure whatever he just pulled had worked. He wondered if Reiner and Bertolt could hear the echoing, booming chuckle from the other side of that door. Operation Do Something Actually Fun was a go. “Of _course_ I’ll help you. By our last home game you said, right? That’s more than enough time. I won’t bore you with the details, but my old partner in crime—well, he knows a guy. I’ll need to use the pictures we have of you three in our database, but we’ll switch your names and dates up a bit, so there shouldn’t be an issue there. As long as no one catches you in the act, of course.” Rather than coming off as a threat, Zeke’s words sounded more like advice. “Just try not to make any scenes, _wear civilian clothes,_ obviously, and watch out for each other. No one should be the wiser.” He was laughing again. “Honestly, this is not at all what I figured you’d say when you walked in here, looking like a little deer in the headlights. But have you ever been one to disappoint?”

Eren laughed awkwardly, unsure of how to respond. A deer in the headlights? “No…?”

“That’s exactly right. Well. I assume you’ll keep this tight-lipped between you three?” Zeke was beginning to dismiss him, and Eren was almost relieved to be leaving. The past two minutes felt like whiplash.

“Y-yeah, of course.” _It’s not like Armin or Marco would say anything. Mikasa and Annie hadn’t heard anything…right?_

“Alright then. You tell Braun and Hoover they better give me their goddamn best on the field these next few weeks for this. I’ll let them know once the little beauties are processed, so don’t you worry about anything else from me.” His glasses flashed, reflecting the fluorescent lights beaming down on the brothers. “Just make sure you bring me back a good story after the game.”

Eren nodded his compliance and saluted Zeke, who just laughed. “Easy, kid. Go on now, I’ve got a few more sets before I’m done here. Unless you’d like to join me?”

The younger of the two offered what felt like the thousandth discomforted laugh he’d given in the span of minutes and inched his way toward the door. “No thanks, have a good workout!” He slipped out without another word. Waiting right outside where they'd shoved him, Bertolt and Reiner held heavy, expectant expressions and Eren knew at once they had no idea whether they were looking at success or failure.

“You guys _so_ owe me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LOR: Letter of Reprimand. More severe than a Letter of Counseling.  
> Control stick: No idea what it’s actually called. Just kinda looks like a glorified console joystick but I thought control stick sounded more technical. Mostly I’m just lazy.  
> Lots of name-dropping, mini flashbacks, exposition and backstory (whew, sorry). This chapter was a bit long-winded, but we're finally getting somewhere! I like to think that if the brothers weren't playing 4d chess against each other like in canon, Zeke would just dote on Eren a lot. Shrugs.
> 
> Next chapter: Shitfaced Eren 2.0, now in real time. I wonder if Levi goes clubbing…


End file.
